


may those wistful wishes bloom

by zyixings



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, angst with a hopefully tender ending, implied family arguments, sort of identity crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:13:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25854160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zyixings/pseuds/zyixings
Summary: seungcheol's withered and he doesn't now what will be of him from now on.maybe he just needs to let the sun and the world tend to him this one time.
Relationships: Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Hong Jisoo | Joshua
Comments: 10
Kudos: 26
Collections: Challenge 1: Kidult





	may those wistful wishes bloom

seungcheol lets go of the flowers with reluctance. there’s something comforting about them, but he feels like the whole point of this crisis is to let go of his old self, and flowers are certainly a part of that, aren’t they? they taint all of his memories, they're the permanent feathery feeling on his fingertips, the reason why he met the most important person in his life.

flowers are colourful and cheerful, but fragile and transitory. natural flowers die if they don’t get all your attention while planted, and die even more quickly when they’re cut. artificial flowers are almost like corpses from the start.

and that’s about it. and that’s also who he is. a buoyant yet too-sensitive guy who tries too hard, who cares too much, but even when he tries his best to bloom, the sun turns away from him and he does not get to survive.

his heartbeat is a deafening percussion that gets louder and louder, sounding too much like disdain.

inside him, two voices swallow every other one. the first one is the kind and stoic voice of expectations and abnegation, of everything that he should be doing because he has the potential to do it. that voice is the one who upbraids him for all his attempts at getting even a sliver of recognition. because he should not want that, he should be okay knowing he’s doing his best, knowing that he’s worked hard.

but the other voice tells him that he’s disposable, that he’s accomplished nothing and that he should definitely work harder, be better, _deserve_ to be looked at that, to be acknowledged.

his own intuition and desires died long ago in the first battle that raged in between those two.

remembering the argument with his family makes him feel like throwing up or curling up into foetal position. but he does not think he’s got any energy left to do something about this, including just reacting to it.

he’s hiding away in the greenhouse, to further infuriate his parents and both of the voices in his head, which demand he should be working, achieving, being what he is meant to be.

but no one’s tended to these flowers in so long.

at least not like he used to.

“you’re here,” jisoo says from the glass door later. seungcheol is moving some cornflowers into a bigger pot, practiced ease in his hands, almost innate delicacy in his motions.

he doesn’t look up. there’s a chain on his body that wears him down and it’s called shame.

jisoo holds the keys to it. he hands over a small rake for seungcheol to even out the surface, and water to make this pot a more welcoming home.

while he’s cleaning the table up, jisoo takes a hold of his trembling hands, all fluency ripped from them the second they’re not touching soft petals or granulated dirt.

even if a thin layer of it rests on seungcheol’s fingers and under his nails, jisoo kisses the back of his hands almost with reverence, almost as tender as seungcheol was with the flowers. he looks and holds, even when seungcheol’s hands grip and his eyes fill.

“you’ll be okay,” jisoo whispers, lips against his wrist now. “i’ll make sure of it. let me take care of you, _please_.”

and it’s assertive as much as it is pleading. seungcheol’s knees want to give out, his mind is an absolute black hole, his heart is gasping for that one saving breath.

because apart from flowers, all his memories offer at least a glimpse of the boy –no, _the man_ in front of him. he can't look up but he doesn't need to, because his face is permanently painted in the back of his eyelids, as if he was the only other person seungcheol's ever needed, wanted. his fingers still hold on tightly to him, but even if they weren't, seungcheol could always remember what his skin feels like, what his hair and his lips and his tongue feel like in contact with his own body. seungcheol has committed every detail of jisoo to his memory but has never, ever, wanted to bare himself to him like this, wanted to be held by him like this.

as if he'd just fall to the ground and scatter around in a million pieces if he does not reach his arms fast enough.

jisoo steps closer, forces him to face him, kisses his lips softly and briefly, but making sure his presence registers in seungcheol's foggy and terrified mind. when he pulls away and they lock eyes again, his gaze is gentle and seungcheol is not suffocating any longer, but he is greedy, so greedy all of a sudden, even when he objectively has nothing left.

he was sure there was nothing rooting him in place.

but for now, jisoo’s eyes do.

**Author's Note:**

> so very thankful to the mods of this event for their hard work!! i hope you've liked this,  
> have lovely day and stay healthy ❤️❤️


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